


Meet-cute

by nathG



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26515717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nathG/pseuds/nathG
Summary: Logan and Rogue tell Hank the story of how they met. They're bad at it."Cage fighter?""Means I fought in a cage," Logan intervened again. His expression suggested he thought that had been helpful."And by met, I mean I saved his life.""And by saved my life, she means she yelled out and freaked out while I took care of some business."Hank looked at Ororo, quizzically. She sighed."You two areterribleat telling this story."
Relationships: Logan/Rogue (X-Men)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 112





	Meet-cute

**Author's Note:**

> This fluffy one-shot is actually a scene from a much longer piece I'm currently working on. That won't be posted for a while (I'm working on a full draft first), but I was itching to share something and realized that this section works decently as a one-shot. A little context: I'm assuming that Logan, Rogue, Hank and Storm all found themselves at the mansion some time after X3. Hank is hurt, but that's not too important here.

"Here you go, darlin'."

"Thanks, honey."

Ororo turned to walk back with her plate. A cheese-covered burger patty, fresh off the grill, glistened appetizingly on top of a sliced bun.

In honor of what might be the last warm-enough night of the season, the faculty were having dinner in the outdoor picnic area on the back side of the mansion, about a hundred feet or so from the main building and just one sweeping stretch of grass away from the lake. A large pavilion, threaded with cheerful string lights, housed two very long picnic tables, each flanked by dining benches, and a respectably furnished kitchen off to the corner. The gravel trail now crunching under Ororo's feet connected the pavilion to the open area where Logan stood, the glow from the grill brighter on his figure than the electrical light that emanated from the structure and diffused across the distance. Beyond him, further into the darkness, was the edge of a grove that stretched out all the way to the property limit, criss-crossed by walking paths that Xavier had once said were the great adventures of his childhood. That afternoon had been thick and warm, but the sun had been gone long enough now that the coolness was beginning to drift in from the woods.

Ororo sat herself down at the table, comically oversized for their party of four. Next to her was Rogue, standing with one knee on the bench and bent over a large cutting board crowded with half-chopped salad items, including a red onion from which she was cutting an admirably thin slice. In front of her were two plates: on one, a bare bun with a layer of what looked like mayo, and on the second, another bun stacked with lettuce, tomato, a thicker slice of onion, and an absurd number of pickle slices. Across the table from Ororo's seat, Hank was munching on potato chips and staring absent-mindedly at the tray of condiments set at the center of their section. An assembled burger sat in front of him, politely untouched.

"Kid! Bring your plate!"

Rogue put down her knife and threw her leg back over the bench. "He's gonna be calling me that when I have great grandchildren..."

Ororo smiled, and the young woman picked up both plates and set out on the path she'd just come from.

"Hank, honey, can I get you something to drink?"

"That'd be lovely, Ororo. I think Logan got us some beer."

Hank's wheelchair was folded up behind him. He'd been in an accident four weeks earlier and still couldn't walk.

"I'm sure he did," she replied with a smirk, scooting over to the end of the bench where a cooler sat on the floor, filled to the brim with ice and two types of beer. "You want the IPA?"

"Yes, please."

She fished out two bottles of IPA and popped the caps with an opener tied to the cooler's handle. Setting one in front of each of them, she settled back into her seat. In the distance, Logan was closing the grill, and he and Rogue started walking back together.

"Cheers, Hank."

"Thank you, my dear."

Their bottles clinked over the condiments, and as she took the first sip the voices from the path became audible.

"—because I'm not!"

"You need to be so damn stubborn?"

"You're the one who thinks that just cause I'm from Mississippi—"

"Or maybe cause I've known you six damn years?"

Ororo caught Hank's eyes and smiled. He was listening too, and probably had been for much longer.

"Are they always like that?"

"Always," she said softly. "Ever since I've known them."

He nodded. The two voices got closer.

"Will you just _take_ it?"

"I don't _need_ it!"

They stepped into the light of the canopied area and Rogue put down the two plates, each of which now crowned with a cheese-topped patty. Logan was down to his tank top and empty-handed except for his flannel shirt, which he was holding now instead of wearing.

"I'm gonna set it down here," he said, bunching up the shirt and setting it on the table.

"I told you I don't need it!"

Logan rolled his eyes and looked at Ororo.

"Storm, darlin', will you discipline your student?"

"She's your student now, honey," she said with a smile, shifting to accommodate Rogue, who sat down next to her and reached for the ketchup.

"Everybody have drinks? Kid, what do you want?"

"Hm, whatever they're having, I guess."

"You ain't gonna like that one."

Rogue groaned petulantly, drizzling ketchup on the two burgers she'd set in front of herself. "Why, cause I'm a _kid_?"

"That, too," he needled, already picking up two beers from the cooler. Neither of them was what she had asked for. "Also cause it's an IPA."

"I like IPAs."

"Sure you do."

"I _do_!"

"That right? You like your coffee black, too?"

Rogue stuck her tongue out at him and went back to carefully setting a very thin slice of onion on top of one of the burger patties. Ororo offered her own bottle. "Here, honey, you want to try mine?"

"Thanks, Storm." But she was looking at Logan as she took the bottle to her lips and tilted her head back. The scowl rippled up her nose and forehead immediately, and Ororo bit back a laugh.

Logan, of course, didn't. "Well, that's settled, then. God forbid you ever take anything I say at face value."

Rogue set the bottle back on the table. "Well, what else you got?"

"Got you and me a lager, kid. I don't drink that shit either. Don't know how Hank can."

"A lifetime of practice," Hank said, raising his bottle.

"Makes me doubt those feral senses of yours if the hops don't give you a fucking headache."

"He doesn't even like _mustard_ ," Rogue added next to her, a hint of incredulity in her voice as she drew a yellow spiral on what must be her own burger. Ororo noticed that all the vegetables were under the meat in this one.

Hank tapped his temple. "Mind over matter, my friend."

Logan chuckled. Sitting down next to Hank and directly across from Rogue, he cracked open the two bottles of beer and set one on each side of the table, as Ororo had done before. Rogue slid over the plate with the mustard-less and peculiarly onion-topped burger, and picked up her beer. No one said thank you.

Across from Ororo, Hank was finally taking his first bite.

"Mmmm, Logan, my friend," he started, swallowing quickly. "I didn't know your secondary mutation was a talent for grilling!"

"Logan has long been the resident grillmaster."

"His burgers are legendary," Rogue joined in, next to her. "We used to have them every summer."

Ororo remembered those summers, before Hank had joined them on a full-time basis. They had held graduation parties each year on the day before the ceremony — school-sanctioned ones, as opposed to the ones the faculty pretended not to know about on the following night. For the entire day there was grilling and music and the screams of children as they ran across the lawn back and forth between the food and the docks, drops of lake water leaping from their bodies to get lost in the sunlight. It had been Scott on grill duty in the old days, but during Logan's first summer at the school he had uncharacteristically volunteered to take over the seasoning, forming and grilling of burgers. Once it was clear how much better he was at it than Scott, the change settled swiftly into habit. After graduation, in the lazy summer months when the school became a dormitory for the many students who had nowhere else to go, they grilled occasionally as weather and duty permitted. In her mind every one of those nights had been dotted with stars and fireflies and magic. There had been an expansive blanket of safety tucked into the corners of her world in those times, but like almost everything else it had come undone when Xavier died.

"I can certainly see why," Hank approved, taking another enthusiastic bite.

Next to him, Logan smirked. "Don't listen to this one. Kid'll eat a live raccoon if that's what's around."

"Live raccoon? You want to talk about how long you cooked that burger?" Rogue's Southern drawl, that ever reliable measure of her annoyance, was rising fast.

"That beef jerky in my glove compartment had to be at least five years old, kid."

"I was hungry! I hadn't eaten for a day!"

"You fed our student five-year-old beef jerky, Logan?"

"It was before she was our student," Storm explained. Turning to Logan, she added, "Hank doesn't know the story."

"You two met before she was a student?"

Rogue and Logan exchanged a glance.

"Should I tell it?"

"You sure ain't gonna let _me_ tell it."

"Cause you don't tell it right."

"Alright, _kids_ ," Ororo cut in, "quit yapping and somebody tell the story."

"When I got my..." Rogue trailed off and extended her hands by way of explanation. Hank nodded understandingly, but Logan didn't let it go.

"Powers."

" _Mutation_ ," she corrected, "I had to leave home." She rolled her eyes and circled her wrist twice in a gesture of "long story," and Ororo wondered how much of this was going to be pantomimed.

"Kid hopped on the road," Logan clarified.

"Now who's telling this story?"

"So far it's more gesticulating than tellin'."

"As I was _saying_ , I had to leave home. And I had always wanted to go to Alaska, so I set my sights there. So I got on the road and went up all the way to Alberta—"

"—she means _hitchhiked_ —"

"—safe and _sound_ —"

"Depends who you _ask_."

"He's asking _me_ , I'm pretty sure." Across the table, Logan grunted at this. Hank smiled at Ororo, and she smiled in response. Rogue continued, oblivious to her audience. "So, I went all the way to Alberta and somehow ended up in this shithole of a town called Laughlin City, where I walked into the first place that served free water and met a gentleman cage fighter by the name of Wolverine."

" _Cage_ fighter?"

"Means I fought in a cage," Logan intervened again. His expression suggested he thought that had been helpful.

"And by met, I mean I saved his _life_."

"And by saved my _life_ , she means she yelled out and freaked out while I took care of some business."

Hank looked at Ororo, quizzically. She sighed.

"You two are _terrible_ at telling this story. Hank, Logan used to drive from town to town looking for bars hosting organized fighting. Underground, obviously. A man at one bar tried to attack him after suspecting he was a mutant. Rogue saw it and cried out in warning, but of course Logan didn't need warning," Ororo translated.

"Ah!"

"Well, I didn't _know_ that then," Rogue explained, "so I warned him."

"Kid sure tried," Logan admitted before taking another sip of beer.

"Anyway, so then he pins this guy, and then the owner gets a gun out, it's this whole thing..." More gestures and eye rolling. "Then Logan gets up and leaves, all sulky—"

"Hate crimes do sour my mood a tad."

"Not that it often _needs_ souring," Rogue jabbed, turning to Logan for effect and then back to Hank, "So when I needed a ride out, I figured—"

"Why not follow the sulky guy who just cut a rifle in half with metal fucking claws and hide in his trailer? What a great idea." Logan's tone hinted quite strongly that he did not think that had been a great idea.

"She hid in your trailer?"

He nodded.

"And you weren't scared of him?"

Logan was looking down at his food, but despite his studied stillness it didn't escape Ororo that his eyes darted across the table at this question. To her left she could see Rogue's head tilt slightly in response; the expression on her face wasn't visible from this vantage point, but whatever it was, it seemed to cause something around Logan's eyes to soften, noticeably even if only for a moment.

"Not one bit," Rogue shrugged.

Hank turned to Logan now. "And you didn't smell her?"

Chewing his burger, he made a gesture to indicate smoking. They'd really tell this story a lot better if they used more words.

"Ah!" he exclaimed again, holding the vowel for a beat. "I was about to doubt _your_ feral senses."

"He heard me, though, knocking about in there, so he pulled over to kick me out."

"Oh, so now I kicked you out?"

"Of course you kicked me out."

"You kicked her out?"

"This river rat _sneaked_ into my trailer!"

"I needed a _ride_!"

Ororo was snickering by now. "Logan made her get out of the trailer and left her there," she explained, clearly the official interpreter for this performance, "but only for a minute."

"He pulled over again," Rogue admitted, but then she raised her eyebrows about as far as they seemed to go. "Two hundred feet away, I'll say that."

"You made the girl walk two hundred feet on the road?"

"How am I the bad guy? I picked up _a stray_!"

Hank must have decided he was on Rogue's side, because they gave the exact same answer, his rich voice layered over hers in unison. "Who saved your _life_!"

Ororo's snickering turned into laughter as outrage bloomed on Logan's face and Rogue smiled triumphantly. Hank was looking between Rogue and Logan, each staring at the other trying to disguise something slightly more serious than amusement. Grinning behind his beer, he winked at Ororo, and she shot back a knowing smile.

"So you got your ride, Rogue?"

" _Finally_ I did," she huffed dramatically, "and then when I got into his truck I politely asked—"

"—rudely _demanded—_ "

"—if he had anything to eat—"

"Ah! Hence the five-year-old beef jerky."

Logan and Rogue both nodded.

"It's quite the meet-cute," Ororo commented, not without malice, and she didn't need to look at Rogue to know she'd be blushing.

For a few minutes they were all silent, enjoying burgers and that first chill of fall. Then Rogue got up and quietly wrapped herself in Logan's flannel shirt, which was still sitting on the table, before returning to her seat. His eyes followed her movements, but if he had anything to say about it, he kept it to himself. Out the corner of her eye, Ororo saw Rogue look down as if to hide her small smile, and when she looked at Logan's face it was there again, that softness, along with an inexplicable twinkle in his eye that only just flickered before it was gone, a faint echo of the stars and fireflies and magic that had once dotted their summers.


End file.
